Brother Fish (77 page)

‘You mean the policy that doesn't exist?' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan stated, with more than a touch of irony.

‘Correct. Discrimination on the grounds of colour or race is not mentioned in immigration law, and the term “White Australia Policy” does not exist as far as Canberra is concerned. Officially, rejection of someone seeking to immigrate is not based on colour or race, it is based entirely on failure to pass the dictation test. Unofficially, immigration officers are under strict verbal orders to give the test to anyone whom they consider is not white.'

I turned to Jimmy. ‘That's why Cuffe asked you about your ancestry.' Turning now to Colonel Stone, I added, ‘Jimmy's an orphan and couldn't answer the question.'

Instead of smiling, as I suppose I'd anticipated, the colonel said, ‘That might yet prove to be a stroke of luck.'

‘What, Jimmy being an orphan?'

‘Not knowing his background, yes.'

‘The whole thing is so duplicitous,' exclaimed Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan, indignation getting the better of her.

‘Maintaining the policy requires a high degree of duplicity,' said Colonel Stone with surprising frankness. ‘For instance, in a recent newspaper article, Mr Holt, the immigration minister, makes the usual two points the government habitually uses to defend its position. Firstly, that he is convinced Asian people
understand
our restricted immigration policy – what makes him so convinced he doesn't explain. Secondly, that the policy is supported by both political parties and by all the classes. It's true that both political parties agree to the so-called dictation test, but suggesting that the entire Australian population goes along with it as well is pure conjecture. We have never had a referendum to establish how the nation feels.'

I'm sure we all thought Colonel Stone must have been referring to the column that had appeared in the Melbourne
Daily News
that had so depressed us.

Then Wendy asked the question at the back of everyone's mind, prefacing it with a smile that possessed enough kilowatts to light up the Melbourne Cricket Ground. ‘Colonel Stone, you said before that it was unusual for you to be asked to act for Jimmy – I mean, a soldier from a different nation. How did that come about?' It was ingenuously put without any apparent hidden agenda, as perhaps may not have been the case if Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan or myself had pursued this in an attempt to see if Zara Holt or her husband was involved.

Colonel Stone paused to think, scratching his forehead with the tip of his index finger. ‘That's a question I had to ask myself, and I can only conclude that someone, somewhere, wants something to happen. Either that, or as is much more likely, they want to avoid being embarrassed. You have to understand, at a diplomatic level the government is very defensive on this issue. For instance, you may be wondering how we were able to get all the affidavits and letters on Private Oldcorn so very quickly.'

‘Yes, that had occurred to me,' I said. ‘Our army doesn't usually move that fast, and I'm sure that's also true of the Americans.'

‘Well, it seems the Americans had the material already documented. Many former US prisoners of the Korean War had mentioned the two of you in their debriefing, and others had written to the Pentagon. As you probably know, the Americans didn't always come out of the Chinese POW camps covered in glory. Someone at the Pentagon must have seen this story as an opportunity for a bit of positive public relations and decided to collate the information. They then discovered more details – in particular how Mr Oldcorn personally risked torture and possibly death by gaining the confidence of the Chinese communists and exposing their web of informers, thereby throwing into chaos their efforts at indoctrination. With a congressional enquiry about to start on why so many Americans defected to the communists while prisoners of war, this is just the sort of good publicity they were looking for.'

‘And then they discovered Jimmy was a Negro!' I interrupted, ‘So they put the kybosh on the whole thing.'

Colonel Stone laughed. ‘No, that's quite wrong, sir. Ten days ago the American government announced Private Oldcorn is to get a military decoration from the president.' He paused, and grinned. ‘That is, when the Australian Government can locate him. The American press has also been looking for him and is becoming very agitated, and Canberra is being bombarded with requests for information on Private Oldcorn's whereabouts. Finally, the US Army is very anxious to parade him for the purposes of publicity and I guess that's how the Australian Army got involved.'

We were gobsmacked. I eventually said, ‘But finding him wouldn't be too difficult.'

‘Not to us, but a small island off the coast of Australia might as well be on the moon as far as an American newspaper reporter is concerned. They may have heard of Australia but they certainly haven't heard of Tasmania, let alone a dot in the ocean like Queen Island. Private Oldcorn had a Qantas ticket from Japan to Melbourne, but after that he effectively vanished – there are no records of his movements.'

‘And that's why Jimmy's visitor's visa was extended so effortlessly,' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan remarked quietly. ‘They didn't want him to suddenly reappear.'

‘Yes, I think you all get the general idea,' Colonel Stone said.

Jimmy had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout this. ‘A bit of a turn-up for the books, eh, Jimmy? Now you're a bloody war hero, mate,' I said laughing, with the others joining in.

‘Dat funny, Brother Fish. First we got dat chump Ward Brady Buckworth Junior, he gone fine Jesus an' now he for-give me. Now da whole America, dey want to do da same. I ain't no nigger no more – I's a war hero. How come a hero he don't have no skin colour, eh?'

‘I'm afraid that's not true in Australia, Private Oldcorn. Your skin colour remains the problem while your potential “hero status” in America is a potential embarrassment for our government.'

‘They're gunna give you a ticker-tape parade down Broadway,' I laughed.

‘Well, that really put the cat among the pigeons, as you can imagine,' the colonel said. ‘So the Australian Government instructed the Department of Defence to follow up on the story and I was given the task of writing to the Americans requesting details of Private Oldcorn's involvement with you.' He paused, smiling. ‘Now I'm probably drawing a long bow here, but in 1942 the first shipload of American servicemen arrived to be based in Australia and the customs officials wouldn't allow the Negro soldiers to disembark. This caused both panic and extreme embarrassment because the Australian Government had previously requested that no Negroes be sent. The Americans had officially refused, but in diplomatic circles, as they say, a wink is as good as a nod, and we assumed the matter was settled. So the Australian Government was caught with its pants down when the black soldiers arrived. What I'm trying to say is, could Mr Oldcorn's application for residency possibly have the makings of another such incident?' Then he added quickly, ‘This is pure speculation on my part, you understand.'

‘I don't think so, colonel,' Jimmy said softly.

Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan smiled. ‘There's an old Chinese saying, “When you're defending the indefensible you are a dog barking at shadows.”'

‘Well, whoever would have thought of that!' I said, leaning back in my chair. ‘Jimmy, you could become a “diplomatic incident”, mate.'

Colonel Stone laughed. ‘If I'm correct, I suspect I've been given this job to avoid anything like that happening.'

‘You mean you have to find a way out?' Wendy asked, hopefully.

‘
Suggest
. In the final analysis, it's not up to me.'

‘I'm led to believe the candidature for the dictation test is made on appearance, and there are no exceptions. Is this not the case, Colonel Stone?' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan asked.

‘Essentially, you're right. But appearances can be deceptive, or at least appear to be, on paper.' He could see we were puzzled. ‘This is the decidedly awkward part, Private Oldcorn. I have been authorised to give you a physical examination.'

‘What for? Yoh want to see I's med-ic-ally fit? My leg, it healed good.'

‘Jimmy's fit as a mallee bull. We dive just about every morning,' I volunteered.

‘Hence the healthy tan. Out in the sunshine a lot, eh?'

It was the way he said it, like he was trying to tell us something.

‘Where you gonna do dis exam-in-nation, colonel?' Jimmy asked.

‘I thought the Gents, Mr Oldcorn. As I'm not a doctor, I'd like Mr McKenzie to come with me as a witness. It won't take long, and I don't mean to embarrass you, but if this wasn't important I wouldn't ask.'

‘You say you're not a doctor, colonel – so why would you conduct a physical examination of James?' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan asked. She then added, ‘Is it in your brief?'

‘No, it isn't. That kind of thing never appears on paper. I received a confidential call from Canberra two nights ago.'

We were all mystified. What kind of physical examination could the colonel make without him being a physician – or at the very least, a qualified medical orderly? Colonel Stone turned to Jimmy. ‘Of course you may refuse, and I wouldn't blame you.' But then he added in a kindly voice, ‘In this case, I think you should trust me.'

‘Sure,' Jimmy said. ‘I ain't got nothin' you ain't seen before.'

Stone rose and walked ahead of Jimmy and me on his way out to the Gents, which must have been down the hall somewhere because he turned to the left at the door. For a moment I was alone with Jimmy, and sufficiently out of earshot of Wendy and Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan and the military officer. ‘He's gunna check out your dick, Jimmy – that is, if the bloody thing isn't worn down to a stub,' I whispered, in an attempt to lighten the moment.

‘I dunno 'bout dat, Brother Fish. Wendy, she got a nice smile on her face dese days,' he chuckled. ‘It spell sat-tis-fact-shun.'

Colonel Stone was waiting for us when we entered the toilet. ‘You may be wondering what the hell all this is about. Again, I apologise. But I have to say I've been dealing with these problems since 1946, and nothing surprises me any more. Someone in Canberra, probably the foreign minister, wants this matter settled.' He turned to Jimmy. ‘They're obviously concerned you will get back to America and tell them what happened in Hobart. On the other hand the Immigration Department can't make exceptions, even for a war hero. That would create an unfortunate precedent.' I thought of Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan when she'd pointed out to me that a precedent was a law in itself, and not an emotional exception.

‘The regulation states, “If the applicant's background and racial history is not available, and if in appearance he is not substantially white, he
must
be given the dictation test.” The last two words “substantially white” are the key. That's why I made mention of Private Oldcorn's excellent suntan. I hope you didn't take my remark as an insult.' He paused, then grinned. ‘The caller from the Department of Immigration pointed out to me that the report they'd received from their officer in Hobart referred to Private Oldcorn's skin colour as “yellow”, suggesting a genetic Negro.'

‘I is called a “high yella”,' Jimmy said.

Stone smiled. ‘Of even more importance is the fact that the immigration official's report states you are an orphan. You see, the law states that if there is no past history available then the subject can, at the discretion of an immigration officer, undergo a physical examination. “Give him a physical examination,” the caller from the Immigration Department said to me. “I'm not a physician,” I told him. “You don't need to be,” was the reply. “Wasn't that done in Hobart?” I asked. He'd sounded impatient. “
Yellow
, that's what the report says. It could be a suntan – so why don't you look where the sun don't shine, colonel.”'

Jimmy and I both laughed. ‘Is this for real?' I asked.

‘Absolutely! Now, would you mind dropping your trousers and pulling down your underpants, Private Oldcorn.'

Despite the indignity and even the humiliation this may have caused Jimmy, I had to laugh. Fortunately, so did he.

The human buttocks are evidently the area of skin least exposed to the sun, the colonel said, as Jimmy dropped his daks and pulled down his underpants. Under the bluish fluorescent light the skin on his bum looked pale enough to me. ‘I'd say that's pretty white, wouldn't you, Mr McKenzie?'

I heard Jimmy take an inward breath and suddenly it was no longer funny. ‘Fuck, I'm sorry, mate,' I said to Jimmy.

‘Yes, so am I,' said the colonel. ‘Please get dressed, Private Oldcorn.'

Jimmy pulled up his underpants and britches. ‘It been done before, Brother Fish,' Jimmy said quietly. ‘In Elmira Reformatory, dey done do dis to classify yoh. Nigger, chink or white – dat da only three class-si-fi-cation dey got. Sometimes two brothers dey der, one he clas-si-fied white, da udder he a nigger.'

‘I don't think I heard that!' the colonel remarked.

‘Now what happens?' I asked.